NUNS AND CONVENTS. 179 



Afterward we went to the convent, following our 

 guide and chaperon along a dim corridor, that be- 

 trayed a number of little doors in the walls. Before 

 one of these doors we halted, while it was unlocked. 



" Domois pazhalt gospodin," said the guide, after 

 my friend had entered, and accepting the invitation 

 we found ourselves in a nun's cell. It was a cellar- 

 like room, about eight paces by four, divided into two 

 compartments by a screen. Small grated windows 

 were on a level with the ground without, and the sills 

 contained pots of flowers. The floor was innocent of 

 carpet, but was polished as if with wax. 



The sitting-room contained a plain chest of drawers, 

 chairs, table, and a little clock. A small brass samovar, 

 which we were told was thirty years old, stood on the 

 table, and on the wall hung small photographs of the 

 Mother Abbotess, a couple of priests, and relatives of 

 the outer world, besides the inevitable ikons and holy 

 prints. A hospitable offer to steam up the samovar 

 was declined on the score of time and trouble. The 

 smaller compartment contained a narrow bed, with 

 snowy sheets and a thick, comfortable mattress, stuffed 

 with hemp, a chair, and a few other necessaries. The 

 whole was a snug enough retreat. 



We next visited the department where the convent 

 kwass is brewed. This was in charge of a lively old 

 nun who, in the outer world had been a countess, and 

 showed good breeding in every movement. She wore 

 a working suit of rusty black and devoted her time to 

 brewing kwass for the rest of the nuns. The room 

 was full of big iron pots, tubs and sacks of rye flour, 

 and was partly occupied by a big oven for baking and 



